


Life In The Eyes Of A Thing

by rhythmicroman



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Slavery, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicroman/pseuds/rhythmicroman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus is a Thing.</p>
<p>He is not a Person. He will never be a Person.<br/>Until another Thing comes along from his distant past, and tells him that he can be more than just a Thing, or a Person.</p>
<p>Sometimes to find heaven, you've got to go through hell.<br/>And with Sans by his side, hell doesn't seem that bad...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life In The Eyes Of A Thing

**Author's Note:**

> a tiny idea I got when watching Hetalia. enjoy ;)))

Papyrus was a Thing.

That is what the other slaves called him - a ‘thing’, or just something so disgustingly vulgar that he didn’t want to remember it.

He, once, had been more than a Thing. He was the son of a kind man, cruelly nicknamed ‘Gaster’ because of his pale, haunting face. Gaster had a soft voice, and a soft smile, and was soft all around. He’d hold Papyrus and sing him to sleep, sweet lullabies and slow songs and quiet hums, and Papyrus felt like a Person, not a Thing.

Papyrus vaguely remembers another Person living with them. A boy, just a little bit older than him, but small and fragile and quiet. Soft-voiced and soft-faced, like his father, with a smile that reached ear-to-ear. The boy’s name was something short, with an S, and whatever fuzzy memories Papyrus had always involved him bathed in blue cloth, with big black orbs for eyes.

And then Gaster was given a gun he’d never learnt to fire and sent to war, against a neighbouring kingdom, to whom they looked uncivil. Gaster had kissed him and the boy (who he had gathered was his ‘brother’) on the cheek and left for war.

He never came back.

Papyrus and the brother boy were packed into a van and taken to a horrible place in the other kingdom, where you could smell burning and hear the sharp bangs of a smith’s hammer, and where the only food you got was some of the little sympathetic child’s packed lunch, lovingly crafted by their dear mother and handed off to a couple of nobodies. Of Things.

The blue boy had one day told him that, no matter what, he’d be there.

He went, too, and never came back. They hauled him off and sold him to a cruel man with a whip - they kept him on a chain and hit him when he bit their fingers. The boy was a Thing, now, too.

And Papyrus, eventually, had been sold to a stern young Master and his many Wives, hours and hours away from the kind child who handed out their lunch, from the nasty man with the cracking whip, from the nauseating bangs of the smith’s work and from the other Thing, his blue blur long gone in the distance.

The Master’s Wives were very kind to him. One had given him a whole pot of tea for grooming a horse.

The Wives weren’t wives, really. They were the prettiest maids, with the longest skirts and the softest lips. Or sometimes they were boys, too, with long coats and backs as straight as poles, and eyes sharper than knives.

But Papyrus’ favourites, were Asriel and Chara.

Asriel was a very pretty man. Not handsome, but pretty - he had hair that was somewhere between gold and white, and emerald eyes that Papyrus swore glinted with red when he fumed. He had a very short temper, but he was often kind, especially to new Things. He’d once given him a bouquet of golden flowers, as thanks for helping with the garden - the Master had stomped them all down to dust when he saw them, and had later thrown Papyrus into the shed for the night, but it was a nice gesture whilst it lasted.

Chara wasn’t pretty, but she was alarmingly tall, and intimidating, too. She always seemed to be scowling, even when she was perfectly happy, and she had crimson eyes and long, dark eyelashes, her pale face framed with chocolate-brown hair. She was cruel and sharp-minded, and often scolded people, but she had a soft spot for Papyrus. She would smuggle him chocolate, and hook lockets around his neck, and sing him to sleep. Her voice was harsh and rough, and not nearly as pretty as Gaster’s soft tones, but it was comforting nonetheless.

And then, one night, It happened.

He was locked in the shed again, after Master found him with Chara’s gifts. Master had broken the locket’s chain and tried to smash it, but he had shoved the remaining pieces in his mouth and held them in his cheeks until he left. Chara was probably being beaten, all because of him. She’d give him a stern telling-off when she got out.

It was dark, and he could barely see, but there was a doll in the corner. It blinked at him and crawled over, and prodded him. He blinked and squinted, and realised that it was another Thing. Another blink. Another squint.

A blue blur.


End file.
